A few weeks before last Crimbo I was confined to hospital. I had gone to A&E with severe abdominal pains and kept in as the doc insisted I had suffered (incorectly) another heart attack. As I had the shits and sickness, I was unable to be placed on a Cardiac care ward so was confined in an isolation room off the Advanced Medical ward in Good Hope hospital Sutton Coldfield. You are not allowed to leave the room and are barrier nursed.(Nurses dress up in plastic aprons and wear gloves). So how do you shit? In a fuckin commode, a chair with a hole in the seat and a pressed cardboard pot inserted below. Food poisoning shit stinks. Stinks revoltingly. Stinks fucking revoltingly. So I am on the potty about ten times an hour and in a world of constant shit and stink. The most gorgeous of divs nurses are in and out taking blood samples, pulse, and heart monitor readings, and all the time I was sitting on a mobile shit-house with my trollies at the short trail, emitting the foulest of smells in short staccato bursts of farting and anal coughs. I was not at all upset to be drafted upstairs to the CCU. What did not exactly rock my boat was coming face to face with one of the said divs nurses in Morison's last week, who fully recognised me and graphically described to her equally divs mate the circumstances of our last encounter. Doncha just love it when life comes home and bites ya in the arse. And you?